If I died in the middle of a frozen night, would you feel alright, would you be alright?

[unpocoloco]

WHO: Héctor, various closed and semi-closed prompts, possible opens later with headers in comments
WHERE: Multiple Locations
WHEN: 21st/22nd night to the end of February/early March. See below for specific dates.
WHAT: Héctor becomes a hollow. Planning details are here
WARNINGS: Standard spoilers, intense body horror, torture, altered mind states, nasty things get said, death talk, it's a doozy folks

Night of the 21st/22nd - The Change - Closed to the Grand Fisher

That night is particularly biting, so he hears. He's not a fan of the cold. Locking himself in a freezer every day hasn't done much to change that, and to boot, he's still horribly anxious about heading out. But it's one of those nights where he stops and thinks about those he's met out here, the people that others don't see, like Heloise who would never just go and get all she needed if it risked her spot, or Garcie who'd turn away anyone who tried to help if it wasn't someone he could trust, and even then. It's far, far too cold for anyone living to be pushing through this. He knows they won't come here, even if they could, but he can go to them.

Risk or no, he's got to go them. Besides, there hadn't been an attack in a while now. Maybe, finally, the things had gone away.

He gathers up as much food as he can, stealing several blankets and pillows from a store room, a few socks from the laundry, gloves and hats from the lost and found. He even finds a spare tarp for Garcie. He hoped it would be enough. While he lost his Primos with so much more frequency, the living were more delicate in sometimes. With one backpack slung on his back and another held in hand, he heads out into the night, hurrying fast. He makes it to Heloise and her usual dumpster well enough, turning down her repeated offers to share the food like always. Garcie, on the other hand, is a little bit harder to find.

"Garcie? Soy-- C'est Héctor... ou Valentin...? Garcie?" He calls the man's name tentatively out into the night, slipping in bits of La Vie En Rose as if that might lure him forward. The wind seems the only thing to answer.

23rd/24th - The Capture - Closed to Rex

The musically inclined in the town of Soliel seem to be having a lot of bad luck. Stereos spark and fizz out, phones playing music and left around are crushed or missing. In at least one car, a radio is found torn right out, and torn apart with it is much of the car itself. But all those things are comparatively mundane. More disturbing are the trails of claw marks left around, the ground and architecture blackened and hot surrounding those marks, as though burnt with some sort of acid.

This trail winds steadily closer and closer to Daybreak Academy. It's not obviously so, but someone who's specifically looking, who knows what they're looking for, will absolutely find it. And here it leads down, down, to a river, a small one trickled down off the side of a mountain, water moving just barely fast enough to keep parts of it unfrozen. Something is settled there on the bank. A faint keening sound comes from it, like an injured dog, something looking for help. A closer approach reveals otherwise.

A monster is settled there, humanoid in some ways but clearly quadruped. Its back legs are bent awkwardly out of shape, too long to be natural, inhuman feet extended into claws. Its front legs could still be somewhat quantified as arms, still having hands on the ends, if each weren't so unnaturally elongated, and those arms not split through, gaps left between the radius and ulna of each. Its skin seems half rotted, holes worn through all over its body, raw in some places, a sickly black in others, and in many spots simply going right through. But none so much so as the open gaping hole settled in its middle, just below an exposed rib cage. Its spine is exposed in the same way, as if burst through the flesh, but it extends well past what it ought to, becoming a long tail that ends in a third inhuman hand. Upon its face is a mask, oddly shaped with squared parts, rounded parts, and a sharp point around the top, but centered is an unmistakable set of razor sharp teeth and glowing gold eyes. There's a rasp to its breath, like it just can't pull air.

Comments

Night of the 21st/22nd - The Change - Closed to the Grand Fisher

[unpocoloco]

[leekspins]

At the end of an alleyway, barely visible by the spilled glow of the streetlight, there rested a pair of legs splayed out, worn shoes on the feet, neither of them so much as twitching. It might have looked as if the owner had simply collapsed from the cold if not for the cold tang of copper in the air, and the dark blood splashed on the brick walls and rusted dumpster.

If Hector were particularly familiar with Garcie's footwear of choice, then he'd most certainly recognize the dead man as his friend. But if not, good luck identifying him.

Garcie's head was missing.

[unpocoloco]

He's been around more than enough corpses that he can tell the difference in a sleeping stillness and worse. Out here though, that wasn't supposed to be common. Out here his brain stutters and fails to compute it.

Especially not for someone he does recognize. No matter how much he wishes he didn't, the homeless didn't have a lot of clothing variety. The missing head feels like a blow to his own. The backpack drops from his fingers.

"Garcie..." He breathes.

His mind races and shoots down options just as fast. Garcie's ghost wouldn't linger here if there was a ghost to linger. He can't bury the body. He can't call the cops. He can't- he needs- Gamma. Did Gamma have a number? He can't remember if he got it. A quick search of his pockets reveals he brought no phone. He needs to move.

"I'm sorry, my friend." Sharply, he turns from the corpse.

23rd/24th - The Capture - Closed to Rex

[unpocoloco]

https://i.imgur.com/vLXGhVo.gif

[heromedal]

Rex always saw the patterns- the ones that were there and the ones that weren't. He obsessed over both until he picked out the truth and swallowed it whole. That's what a scientist does, isn't it? He'd been on the lookout for more Hollows since the first encounter and had done what he does best- prepare.

He can't wait to learn more! Of course, it's all for the greater good. Can't forget that. From Indrik, with minimal probing, he was able to work out how to create the spiritual matter that made up such beings. From Ginshu, he had learnt what made it form shapes by making her form break apart. What he needed now was to learn how it lived, in the strange way that it did. Now he knew they were dead people anyway, he also knew no one would really miss them either- he had every intention of keeping this sample 'alive' until he could work out how to undo the transformation. But even he makes mistakes. The important part is cleaning up the blood and trying again.

And as one of Daybreak's premier music lovers, wasn't it also his duty to avenge all those poor musical devices?

As he heard the sounds of his target, he realises the last Hollow he'd met had also had its canine features. It's like his entire world revolves around references to dogs. If he was inclined to believe in justice, he'd think it was reminders that he was and always would be a scavenger, rabid Black Dog. But that was ridiculous because he didn't need such hints.

All the same, he whistles as if calling to a beloved pet, standing between two trees. Quietly, on the verge of being inaudible, his earbuds let out a song.

"Добър ден," he greeted in Bulgarian, evidence he was more speaking to himself than actually expecting an answer. "Искате ли да танцуваме?"

(( You can hover for translations! ))

lmfao, god, what a song choice too

[unpocoloco]

Héctor didn't consider himself a dog person, but there wasn't much about this that Héctor had ever considered.

The keening keeps up even after he smells the approach. It wasn't what he wanted, it wasn't the right one, but he was hungry. So, so hungry, enough so he couldn't breathe. And this soul was coming to him freely.

Or so he thought until that soul whistled for his attention. His own noise cuts off as his head jerks, eyes leaving light trails as they zero in on the figure there. He stares and stirs in place, rising up to stand on all fours. And then the music reaches his ears. A low and guttural snarl slips from his teeth. He doesn't know what's being said. He wouldn't care if he did. He stalks forward and that third hand raises, clawed.

24/25th - Closed to Rex

[unpocoloco]

[Just... in case we want to detail some of that awful...]

25th/26th - Notice - Peter, Imelda (others if discussed)

[unpocoloco]

It's been more than a few days since Héctor Rivera haunted Daybreak. He disappeared occasionally, a morning pushed too hard into an evening he just didn't wake for. But not like this. Any work left for him piles up. Tutoring sessions are unattended. He doesn't show up in class. He doesn't show up anywhere.

Those daring to investigate his room won't find much. Just a broken guitar partly on its way to being fixed, a made bed, an empty freezer, and a desk piled with class work and stuffed with papers of a different sort, notes and plans for long distance travel. And a phone forgotten, battery drained, messages unanswered.

[made_up_names]

One missed night is relatively normal. Peter gets busy - or he manages to sleep, wonder of wonders - which happens periodically. So he can only assume Héctor managed the same. Two nights ... is unusual? That makes him knock on Héctor's door, then wander away unhappily when he realizes he's not getting a response. The third night he sends a bunch of texts, asking if he's busy or something, and if he ought to go out to the gazebo to meet? To which he gets no response, of course. It's frankly kind of upsetting to be ignored outright, and he finally manages sleep sometime around three AM, a little bit mad about it. He tries texting Orihime about it the next day, asking if she's seen him, and also if she wants to hang out? But no response there either. He has to shoot off a text or two to May just to confirm his damn phone is still working.

But the fourth night. That's when he actually starts worrying. Neither Orihime nor Héctor are answering him, and he hasn't seen them, and Héctor can't just ignore him, dammit, Peter's trying to do his homework and everything! He'll start slacking off, Héctor, just you wait. Some horrible part of him wonders if his undead Tío died for real somehow, but - he doesn't think that would happen without warning? He can only hope, despite the dread already clenching his stomach as he tries again, fruitlessly, to get Héctor to open up his door.

Nothing. Still nothing. He's got a really, really bad feeling about this. With a silent apology, he gently forces the door open, breaking whatever lock Héc might have set for it. And from there he can step into the empty room.

He's. Not here, is he? Peter paces around for a moment, checking anywhere he can think of - including the freezer. Nothing. The broken guitar is here too, and all of his things, so he can't have just left, right? Something must have happened. Something ...

He almost steps on the discarded phone. He does kick it, sending it skittering away under the bed. He has to crawl for it, mentally cursing even as he tries to keep that creeping dread from overtaking him. He's got to be fine, right? Maybe he'll have some messages in here that tell Peter where the heck he got off to ... He sits down on the floor with his back against the freezer, phone in hand. Once it's powered on again, he unlocks it (because he helped Héc set that password in the first place, something he's grateful for now) and starts scrolling through his messages. Orihime... Gwen ... May ...

[made_up_names]

Despite everything, he sort of relaxes reading those texts. The latest one to May is of him passed out with the rune textbook on his face, which he hadn't realized Héc had taken or sent to May. No wonder she'd asked him how his homework was going, huh? He can only assume she missed the textbook title entirely, or assumed it was some fantasy book he was "studying." Or else he'd have gotten weirder questions.

Since the picture was recent, he can only assume there aren't any clues to Héctor's current location, which is his primary concern. But ... when he scrolls through the rest, he doesn't see anything useful? All of his own from the last few days are unread. It's like Héctor disappeared entirely. Or something happened. Or ...

Peter stops for a moment, his breath catching. He'd thought Fisher was gone for now - beaten back by their last encounter, hopefully hurt enough not to want to return for a while. But. Héctor is undead, and Fisher wants as many Hollows as it can possibly make. Or - or even just to kill him outright, like he'd tried to do to Peter when Peter had refused him outright. Héctor would refuse him too, regardless of whatever peril he might be in. Better death than harming his Coco.

"C'mon Pete," he mumbles to himself, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "You're being paranoid. He probably had to go lie in a ditch to renew his hobo undead energy or something." Look, he doesn't know how any of this works. For all he knows that's literally what Héctor's doing. Or, more realistically, he needed more help after the last encounter and went back to Ekkehardt for healing. Right? That has to be it. And if he was going to be out for a few days, he has to have told someone. Maybe even Peter's aunt. He flips back to that conversation, scrolling back through a week or two of idle chatter, May texting Héc pictures of whatever she cooked (and/or burned) that day, gently asking how Peter's doing. Earlier, to the night they'd both been horribly injured.

He stops. Frozen on Héctor's disdain for fae pacts. Compelled to scroll up further, wondering if Héctor told her about this whole school? Did he seriously give away Peter's secrets? He feels a pang of anger, almost grateful for the flush of heat compared to that growing coldness in his stomach. But it's short lived. Héctor isn't telling May about the fae pact; his aunt is telling Héctor about it, and Héctor is asking ... if Peter can age, if Peter can come home, if May knows that her nephew is --

He flinches away from the phone bodily, sending it skittering back across the floor. Dizziness washes over him; he can't seem to get a full breath. Instead he has to lean against the freezer for a moment as his heart squeezes painfully in his chest. Oh god. He's - going to pass out? He gets close to it, squeezing his eyes shut rather than watch his vision fade to black. He had to have read that wrong. They had to have been discussing something else. Peter being a metaphorical child forever, May not wanting him to come home just yet? It's stupid and the logic doesn't work and he knows it, but. But what the hell else can he believe? He's still breathing, blood still pumping. Stupid brain having a stupid normal panic attack.

25th/26th -Mid-search meet ups: Above, plus Minako & Tyzias

[unpocoloco]

[OOC: Tag in wherever/whenever you feel your character would stumble in. OR tag in above where/when appropriate. Planning post linked above if necessary for those wishing to work out details.]

(Network post) un: tyzias

[tiredcharmer]

SUBJECT: where's hector

does anyone know where hector is

i need to apologize to him and

something's wrong

can't even find his weird aura anywhere on campus

there's bits of it in soleil but it's super fucky and reminds me of twozias

which if you don't know is

very bad

please tell me somebody has a fucking clue since this shit reeks of all kinds of malicious fuckery

UN: songstressmatlin - text

[lastexit]

ill track him down

not for you

if hes missing im the best bet to find him

un: ohnomorespiders

[made_up_names]

hes
hes not okay and i dont know where he is but
look this is really bad but im gonna find a way to fix it

25th/26th - Discovery: Rex, Héctor, the whole gang above, and eventually Avery

[unpocoloco]

cw: torture, vivisection, gore, etc

[unpocoloco]

With the direction clear, once the actual search begins for Héctor, it doesn't take too long to track the man down. Or rather, the hollow. It's a winding trail, going in and around the town of Soliel, passing over those ruined music sources, all those claw marks left behind. But nothing's been roped off. If there's been a body left behind, no one's found it.

The trail leads off, away from the town, part of ground torn up and trees torn through. The path goes down, down, a steep incline through the trees until it stops at river. It flows down off the mountain side, slow, but with just enough rush to keep the cold from freezing it solid. It would be an idyllic seen if not for glowing marks of clawed and pacing feet that Pepita illuminates.

The path doesn't go much further, but the sudden howl that cuts through the air reaches them first all the same. There's an echoing quality to it, a distortion that turns it inhuman, enough so to grate the ears and chill the bone. But nevertheless, it's a noise of pain.

It's a straight shot and turn to the right, back into the woods which have been torn up around. The closer one gets the clearer the sounds; rasps, and keening, and for those with better ears a wet shifting sound. But even that is drowned out as the thing soon speaks.

"Coco... Coco... Socorro... Socorro...¡Ayúdame...!" The strained voice breaks off into a sob.

Encased in a barrier, dark but see-through, the monster lays awkwardly on it's back, limbs spread. Its limbs tremble but don't move, weakened within that coffin of a containing spell. Swollen and inflamed stitches run up and down his limbs, around him in patches and chunks, things taken apart and put back together. Its breaths are shallow and choked, but very visible with the way its opened chest glistens. With the skin pulled apart like flaps, internal organs shine, wet with blood, or else a black liquid, too dark with the night to see either way but the ground around the beast is drenched with it. Above it all, a boy--or a man-- is working, turning over the pieces.

But despite what calls for help the creature's made, it clearly doesn't expect it. The hollow catches the scent and that masked face turns, eyes bright and wide. There's a silence before those razor teeth part and let free a low and animal growl. Those eyes move over each person in the crowd, Tyzias, Minako, but settle at last and longest on Peter, and then Imelda. And then with a sudden violence the Hollow's side slams against its prison and it screams, claws tearing futilely to reach those beyond, ignoring its injuries, and the one causing them, in favor of those it hungers for.

[heromedal]

The longer Rex had been working, the easier it got to do this. Those jaws inside him that could close around his heart have linked their teeth into a cage from which no empathy can escape. At this point, he doesn't need to even justify his actions to himself. He's just alive, doing what he does. The pursuit of knowledge is neither kind nor cruel, it's pure. And it feels so good to be pure for a little while.

The problem, or rather blessing, with the thrill is it makes him forget his fears. He didn't stop to think he should really move this whole thing on to somewhere more secure- he had planned to, but once he'd seen Héctor's tail undergo that strange process his own sick hunger had kicked in. He had to know, know now.

He's been at it long enough he's got five o'clock shadow, flecked with grey, not doing much to help with the image of a grown man at his towering height, hands in motion as if conducting opera (and his headphones, in fact, playing Rhapsody in Blue).

He doesn't notice the approach of the others until Héctor moves. He thought he'd given up! How inters t i n g ...

Oh no they're right behind him, aren't they?

He turns and immediately realises how bad this looks. But also they're in the middle of a very delicate operation. One hand raised to the group, fingers splayed, the other kept pointed at the cube and flexing his fingers rapidly, sewing it up, so a sudden stop doesn't destroy his subject/victim (oh no he thought victim) he can only say something amongst the top ten worst things to say.

"Don't interfere," he states, calmly and firmly. Obviously, this is the best way to get across that doing something rash will endanger Héctor. It in no way implies he will brook no interference, fools, how dare you interrupt his work.

26th on to the 2nd, 4th, (or whenever Orihime heals him) - Containment - Semi-open-ish

[unpocoloco]

Being gone nearly a week, by now it's probably evident to anyone peripherally aware of Héctor's existence that the man hasn't been around. They'd be somewhat right.

Within the school, in a heavily locked room guarded outside by one of Avery Atchison's traps, a creature that used to be Héctor stirs and paces. There seems to be no apparent way in or out but through that door. And through Avery himself.

Unless a good excuse is given-- a lie of a cure-- no one's likely to get through. But perhaps a particularly clever and sneaky student can speak through the door. Or perhaps some special permission might be granted with an honest good reason.

The question is, would anyone want to get in? Especially considering the sounds that emanate on occasion, like some unearthly dog's keening whine, the sound of a weeping man, and then worse, the monstrous howls that resound and accompany the noise of a something heavy slamming and scratching at the door.

Those who don't find permission first to be there, and who attempt to break in, will find Avery's trap setting off. A ring of thorns will come up around them, trapping them in a foggy purple void for an hour.

[Please confirm first and discuss OOC before any attempt to get in. This prompt may also be used as a thread point for characters not including Héc. Nosy kids wanting to spend an hour together lamenting? Now's your chance.]

Will match format

[subconmodo]

The screams are easy to ignore. He's used to them. Hundreds of years of torn limbs and decapitations, and of lost wanderers uselessly pleading for their lives make it easy.

And yet sometimes there's the faintest pinprick of pain, the sting of a needle pressing into his heart. He thought it was the caffeine at first, years of bad habits finally catching up with him, but cutting back didn't seem to change a thing.

And as his mind rejects the notion of "killing" the beast formerly known as Héctor for what seemed like the hundredth time, Avery begins to wonder when he acctualky started to give a damn.

He really should just rip the man in two, crush his soul with his bare hands and move on. The school couldn't blame him for it. It was a tragedy, but a necessary one. And yet here Avery is, keeping watch over a fucking locked room like he cares.

He's supposed to be over this sentimental bullshit. He's supposed to know better. He's supposed to have learned his lesson a long time ago.

And maybe the screams are getting to Avery more than he's been telling himself.

[spelleton]

This kind of transformation is beyond his ability to undo. He's very good at curses, but when it comes to corruption of this sort, something where it's almost impossible to tell where decay ends and soul begins...

He could spend hours working at it with little to show, and get nothing but more screams.

He knows better than to try, to potentially subject the man to further pain in order to satisfy his own pride or ego or sense of duty. It would be useless.

"You seem exceptionally grumpy today," he remarks, stopping in the hallway. He can't spare much time - he's still busy, and work doesn't stop because of one incident - but here he is, regardless. "Is the sound getting to you?"

He doesn't know if needling Avery will hurt or help. Regardless, it's a distraction. He's good at those.

[unpocoloco]

Since being shoved in this new cage, he hasn't talked much. Whatever calm he managed (if at all) in his rescue, it's been shed and sloughed, returning him to that agitated and restless state. The hunger screams in him and it won't stop and he can't feed in here and they won't let him out, won't let nothing in. Sometimes he paces the prison. Sometimes he settles to a corner and curls up as small as he can make himself be. It makes no difference.

But sometimes, rare times, his mind clears just a little. Just enough.

He presses himself to the door, as close as he can be. His voice is distorted, echoing, and really rather raspy under all that too, but it's his voice. "Atchison," He hisses through the door. "I know you're still there. Why are you doing this? Helping them hold me back. You should let me out. We could've been half way through the school by now."

for avery and héctor as needed...

[no_dejare_de_quererte]

It's only after Rex has been dealt with, only after Imelda gets the kids back on campus, only after she's had a chance to make sure that they're okay--and possibly comfort them if they're not, that she finally gets a chance to come see Héctor. It's only with great reluctance that she let Avery take him away in the first place... Great reluctance and lingering shock. She's still reeling even now, at all the things she heard from him, and at how viciously he tried to come at her. It doesn't feel real, in a way. The Héctor she's known since she was a teenager... he would never hurt anyone, least of all her. At least... not physically. The monster screaming that he'd tear her heart out, that he'd kill her... that couldn't possibly be Héctor.

But threats or no threats, it's not going to keep her away. And so, she's there at Avery's door, letting herself in this time without knocking. It's her husband that he's locked away somewhere; she doesn't feel she needs an invitation.

"Where is he?" she asks, immediately upon seeing Avery. She hasn't yet heard the creature howling from the room over, anxious and impatient as she was to get here. And despite her abrupt entrance, she doesn't sound at all angry like her more recent visit to Avery. Instead, there's a forcefulness to her tone--but a fragile one. Worry and a touch of panic that she's trying to keep at bay still weigh down on her nevertheless, creasing her brow and pulling a frown on her lips.

[made_up_names]

Of course he wants to get in. He's probably going to attempt it at some point, let's be real, and probably end up in a void for his troubles because he's a dumbass.

But mostly - mostly Peter spends the week miserably standing guard out here, ignoring his classes and almost everything else until someone else makes him get up and eat or study or do anything else. The most he does is text people from his phone, especially the ones who ask him if he's okay, they haven't seen him, etc. This hasn't been a good week. Finding Héctor (and his phone) was just the beginning, it seems ...

He's open to anyone dragging him away or talking to him. But he's also going to talk to Héctor himself, try to plead with him to come back to himself. It's late at night, not too long after he and Imelda found out where he'd been put. He's trying to avoid other adults for this particular conversation, suspecting (rightly?) that they wouldn't want him to have this conversation. "Héctor?" he whispers through the door. "Tío? Are you in there?"

In more ways than one.

For Imelda and eventually Nana

[unpocoloco]

It took time. First to... change. Then to "wake", to family new and old and broken all over, to the weight of all he'd done and said and felt. Breaking down and clinging, so relieved and yet too fractured for anything more.

He doesn't know how long any of it went on, but eventually he was tired in that specific way that wasn't really "tired" at all. He knew it'd be a struggle to get anywhere, that he was weak from the way his energy had been torn up and reassembled, but he hadn't actually expected Imelda to offer help. Not of this kind.

With Peter minding Orihime, it leaves them both in silence, heading for Aube. Leaning upon her, he glances her way every so often, checking how she's doing helping along a skeleton and him in one, but he doesn't manage to say anything. Not yet.

[no_dejare_de_quererte]

It's not easy to offer her help like this--and not because of the physical aspects. He's so light right now that bearing his weight is hardly a problem. But the emotional aspects of it... She's still reeling from the fact that he's back to himself. Still trying to come to terms that his situation still involves being dead. Still trying to keep some distance for the sake of her heart. And juggling all of those things together means wanting to help him, even as she finds it hard to meet his glances.

She keeps her eyes forward, attention fixed on their goal and navigating the path that takes them there, so his looks her way go unnoticed for the most part. She doesn't speak, doesn't say anything about their situation--the present moments or the larger parts of it. Even if she had a mind to, she's not sure what she would say.